


Persistence of Memory

by flashforeward



Category: Pushing Daisies, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashforeward/pseuds/flashforeward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We have been exiled to heal a wound long festering.”</p><p>--</p><p>Surrounded by half-remembered shadows of his past life, Thranduil searches for the reason why he alone is truly himself in this modern age of men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persistence of Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [errandofmercy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/errandofmercy/gifts).



I.

Did he cross the water? He thinks he did, but perhaps he is mistaken. He has, after all, returned to the world of men. He remembers leaving, but he cannot be certain of the veracity of this because he does not remember _returning_. He is simply here, in this vastly different world, surrounded by metal and stone and tar – he misses the forest, misses the trees of the Greenwood. 

What, he wonders, have men done to this world?

II.

He buys the building for the floors – beautiful hardwood, destroyed, dismantled. He wants to comfort the souls that have been treated so barbarically, but they are silent. He has found that even the trees that still live are silent, and it breaks his heart to think of their souls suffering alone. So he walks barefoot through the building – a soaring apartment complex – and whispers to the wood, reassuring it that it is not alone in its pain.

III.

He rents to the girl because she reminds him of his son. Strange to think this small, brusque woman should be so like Legolas: stubborn, persistent. Blond. Her name is Olive, and it is she who suggests turning the downstairs shop front that he has been ignoring into a bakery.

He had made her a pie – a welcome gift – because he had learned some of the modern customs. One taste and the idea burst from her lips like it had been waiting for her to say it. “And,” she added, cutting another slice, “I can work for you!”

And Mirkwood Pies was born.

IV.

“I'm just saying, it's a terrible name.”

Emerson came for the pies, and the free wi-fi, so he could track down criminals in comfort. He also claimed he liked to be left alone, but as he spent much of his visits talking at Thranduil about various things in life that were wrong or simply not going his way, Thranduil suspected he just wanted someone to complain to.

“I've been telling him that since we opened,” Olive interjects, refilling Emerson's coffee mug. “But he insists.” She rolls her eyes and sits down, watching Emerson, waiting for him to include her. He simply stares at her in silence until she rolls her eyes again, stands, and leaves to tend to other customers.

Emerson returns his attention to Thranduil. “Ain't nobody want to eat pies at a place called Mirkwood,” he says, “puts 'em off their appetite.”

“Did you want another piece?” Thranduil asks, gesturing at Emerson's empty plate.

“Apple a-la-mod,” Emerson says, pushing his plate to Thranduil. “With whipped cream and cinnamon.”

With a slight smirk, Thranduil takes up the plate and goes to cut another piece for the curmudgeonly private eye.

Emerson reminds him strongly of a Dwarf he once knew, a long time ago.

V.

Chuck happens because of Emerson.

“Someone's trying to kill her,” he says, “so she needs a safe place to stay.”

“I'm Charlotte,” she puts in, holding out her hand. “Call me Chuck.”

Thranduil shakes her hand and manages a small smile. “Ned,” he says – the name Olive decided on after trying unsuccessfully to say Thranduil half a dozen times. “Welcome to Mirkwood,” he adds, eliciting an annoyed grunt from Emerson and a smile from Chuck.

“Thanks for this, Ned,” she says, “I owe you one.”

VI.

Chuck is Tauriel, he is sure of it, as he has become sure that Olive is Legolas and Emerson is Dwalin. Not entirely, but some parts of them once were someone else.

He wonders why he is back so completely, while they are only the half-remembered dreams of mortal creatures. He envies them their connection to this new world, while he still flounders to find something familiar in the midst of all that is alien.

Watching them, watching Olive and Chuck go through the subtle courtship that he no longer has reason to prevent, he feels lonelier than ever before.

“You aren't one of those creepy assholes who ask women to make out for titillation, are you?” Emerson asked, snapping Thranduil from his thoughts. 

He allowed himself a laugh as he shook his head. “No,” he said, sneaking one last glance at Olive and Chuck as they argue over something Chuck calls 'cup pies'.

He still feels lonely, but he is glad these two have found their happiness.

VII.

The mechanic comes looking for Emerson.

He is short and broad – all muscle. His hair is long and dark with a beard to match, and Thranduil knows this one is different. This one is like him. Not a memory glimpsed through shadows of the present, but a truth aged so long it has become legend. A children's story. 

He introduces himself as Thomas, but Thranduil hears the lie easily because he has heard it in his own voice many times.

He takes Emerson's pie over, hoping to catch a snatch of conversation. But the mechanic is wary, falls silent and watchful as soon as he spots Thranduil, and Thranduil is forced to leave them quickly and ignore the excitement hot in his gut.

VIII.

Thomas comes frequently for a few weeks, sits with Emerson, never orders food or drink. And Thranduil watches, wishing he could listen.

“He is easy on the eyes,” Olive says, following Thranduil's gaze. She nudges him, shoots him a sly grin. “Make a move, why don't ya?”

But Thranduil does not make a move and Thomas disappears, Emerson's services no longer needed.

And Thranduil is once again alone.

IX.

“Not much I can tell you,” Emerson says. “Guy had some valuables stolen, needed to get them back.” He shrugged. “Not a chatty guy.”

He gives Thranduil a look and Thranduil can hear the comparison without it needing to be said. It is encouraging, this closed off mechanic. When you remember an age long past, it is best not to tell anyone.

X.

The age of men weighs heavy on his soul now – an ally snatched from his grasp fills him with such longing he can taste its bitter edge on his tongue. Why was he brought here? What did he do so long ago that he has been ripped from his rightful place and left with shadows of his past to torment him?

What has he done to deserve this?

The memory comes quick and painful in the middle of the night. He sits on the roof in the glow of the full moon and that white light awakens the truth with such force he loses his breath.

The Arkenstone.

The gold lust.

And he knows now who Thomas truly is.

XI.

“We have been exiled to heal a wound long festering.”

Saying the words aloud, telling the truth, is harder than he imagined. He waits for Chuck to cast doubt on his sanity, but she does not. She studies him, quiet and serious, then speaks in a soft, low voice, “Heal it, then.”

XII.

He wonders what will happen to these people once he does. Were they, these reincarnations, created solely for his benefit? To bring the two lost souls together. After all he's seen, he doubts it, and this makes him glad.

XIII.

The shop is what he expected: all dim lights and cold stone. He draws eyes as he crosses the bay to the open office door, strides in without knocking, and realizes his mistake at the mechanic's wrathful gaze.

Ever the prideful king.

But he has come so far.

He bows low and meets to man's gaze. “Thranduil, King of the Greenwood, humbly greets Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain,” he says.

It's quiet for a moment. Then, in a low growl, the man says, “You're having me on.”

And Thranduil's heart sinks, loneliness welling up in him once more.

XIV.

“Did you find what Thomas lost?” Thranduil asks, sitting across from Emerson, hands clasped, gaze fixed.

“What part of _I don't discuss my cases with civilians_ do you people not understand?”

The honest answer is _all of it_ , but Thranduil holds his tongue and waits.

Emerson blows out a breath, then nods. “Yes, I did,” he says. “Now, shoo.” He motions with a flick of his fingers, dismissing Thranduil from his table, and Thranduil leaves, hopes dashed again.

He'd thought that maybe if he could find the Arkenstone here, Thorin would remember his truth. Instead, Thranduil is alone again.

XV.

Thranduil is closing when Thorin returns. He has taken to closing on his own, for the quiet, alone with his thoughts and memories so far out of time he can sometimes almost forget where he is if he closes his eyes and listens to the wind.

That is how Thorin finds him – cross legged on the counter, searching for the past in a world obsessed with the future.

“Is that within health codes?” the gruff voice asks.

Thranduil opens his eyes, looks down at his impromptu guest, shrugs and hops down. “I'll clean it,” he says, wishing he could be barefoot, feel the cool floor on his skin. “We're closed,” he adds, reaching for the neglected broom. “And Emerson isn't here.”

Thorin nods. Hesitates. “I didn't want the others to hear,” he says, “before.” He jerks his head at the door, as if the gesture explains everything.

Oddly, it does.

“Oh?” Thranduil asks.

Thorin hesitates again, then bows stiffly. “Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain, humbly greets Thranduil, King of the Greenwood.”

The silence is heavy with memory, painful and sharp.

Thranduil breaks it. “We have been enemies too long,” he says, striding forward, hand outstretched.

The modern custom feels appropriate.

“To a new life, then,” Thorin says. “A new beginning.”

They take hands.

XVI.

Thranduil and Thorin are dreams. Faceless names in storybooks.

Ned the pie-maker who wakes the dead and Thomas the mechanic who won his heart no longer carry ancient memories of a long gone age.

And Chuck and Olive and Emerson are just Chuck and Olive and Emerson.

_And the world moves ever on._


End file.
